


The Ant and the Boot

by A_hummingbirds_diary



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Loki/OC (at least a bit), New York City, Tesseract-Mind-controlled, big boot, small ant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5545382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_hummingbirds_diary/pseuds/A_hummingbirds_diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"An ant has no quarrel with a boot." - Or has it? What ought to be a normal evening at work turns out to be more like being plunged in at the icy-blue deep end, when Emma, student from Stuttgart, stumbles into a tussle between light and darkness. Being 'mind-controlled' by a certain demigod seems to be just the beginning of something far more elusive. But when the whole world is falling to pieces, how can you tell the one thing from another?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone :)  
> this is my first fanfiction in English (a translation of my own 'native-language'-fanfiction)...so I hope it's not too bad (please tell me when it is...immediately... before it's too late^^)  
> I just thought, I give it a try, you never know...  
> Hope you enjoy the following chapters :)

**Prologue**

I feel my heart beating against my chest.

Feeling your heart beat should be a good thing. But now, the speed in which it pumps the blood through my veins and its throbbing just feels menacing. It sounds like the harsh, heavy pattering of raindrops on a window pane that seems to constantly try to get through the glass to reach you. To grab you with its sloppy fingers and toss you into the storm outside.

I allow myself to slowly slide down the wall in my back and try to focus on the feeling of the smooth glass beneath my trembling fingertips. That, and to breath. To take steady, even breaths. I suddenly feel like a little girl again. A girl, whose eyes are blurry with tears and hands clutching the tattered ends of her blanket tightly in a stormy night. Counting. Waiting for the thunder yet to come.

"Well, that was pretty close, huh?" A voice rolls its way through my mind. Nothing like thunder, more like a chilly breeze on a sunny morning in spring.

Startled I push myself away from the pane, nearly losing my balance due to the sudden effort. My fingers grab the iron handrail next to me, hoping to save me from the storm pulling me ultimately into his ruthless swirls.

I gasp.  
How did I forget about him? _At all?!_

The man behind the pane places his hands on his knees and pushes himself up, a diabolic smile on his lips. His icy-blue eyes capture mine, like they are sensing and soaking in the evident fear shining in them. Imbibing it.

An uncertain hunch crawls up my throat. I cannot turn my gaze away from the dark-haired man. His presents seems devouring and yet calm like the eye of a storm.

In the back of my mind I start to wonder: was I really successful in escaping from the monster I was running from? Or am I facing the true monster in this very moment?


	2. (You're The) Devil In Disguise

**Chapter One - (You're The) Devil In Disguise**

"Another glass of Champagne for you, Sir?"

I politely hold out the dinner tray, while giving the man in front of me a charming, yet demure smile. The golden fluid nearly spills over the edge of the glasses as he takes two of them from the tray and hands one over to a woman standing next to him. The clear sound of clinking glasses fades to a quiet recurring tone in my back, while I'm already continuing my walk through the crowd of people before me. I suppress an exhausted groan.  
I've only been here for about three hours and already my facial muscles hurt as much as my feet, clad in what were surely the most inconvenient and tight black boots that have ever been produced.  
I have to withhold a derisive smile when I spot a banner next to the stage with the theme of this exhibition on it, saying 'Conquest and Immolation'. As a matter of fact, I really immolate the further functionality of my toes here.

Slowly I focus on the gathering of people before me, searching for a potential accepter of my glasses of Champagne. This event surely is set in the most highbrow working premise I've ever worked at.  
The sound of playing violins gently hovers over the white marmoreal floors of the art gallery and around the ionic columns in the lobby. Most of the exhibited paintings and antique statues have been arranged in and around the lower hall for the guests of this gala to be seen.  
Needless to say, that every one of them is sure to be dressed in their Sunday best, many of which probably costs the same as a year's worth of rent on my studio apartment.  
A blond woman in a mauve gown and a heavy looking collar around her neck waves me in her direction and I quickly hurry over. The shiny little pearls strewn on her robes let me think that 'one' annual rent might have been a slight understatement. On another note, I'm able to drop one of my arms to the side to relax after she took the last glass on my tray, while she probably won't be able to lose this chain of hers for the whole evening. With that thought I find myself actually feeling sorry for her.

Making my way back to the bar, I pass the small stage next to the stairs on which in a few minutes some official should give a speech. A Dr. Heinrich or Herbert Schäfer, head of a local security company, if I'm not mistaken.

"Emma!" My name is quickly followed by a light nudge on my shoulder. When I turn around, I look into the face of one of my co-workers. Lisa wears her strawberry-blond hair in a casual knot just as I do, fumbling around with the black tie around her neck and the upper buttons of her blouse – all of that being part our evening uniform. From the headdress to the black colored boots. "Gosh, this tie is strangling me!"  
The tray in one hand, I point to my feet. "Tell me about it. These boots are reshaping my feet."  
Lisa giggles as she drags me on my sleeves away from the well-dressed crowd.  
"Tom asked me to fetch some snacks from the kitchen and bring them down here, but I really need to go to the bathroom", she puts on her best little-puppy-look. "Could you...?"  
"Yeah, alright. I'll deal with the snacks." I stop her with a wave of my hand, a wry smile on my lips. "I really don't want to be the one cleaning up your mess otherwise."  
"Ha, ha. Funny." Lisa's already disappearing in direction of the toilets, quickly mumbling something that sounds like a 'Thank you'.  
Amused I follow her swift steps with my eyes. I have known Lisa for about two years now. She also studies at the University of Stuttgart. But while she's studying to become a teacher, I'm bustling about the engineering for about four terms now. Lisa's also the one who informed me about this job. She knows I could really use some extra money.

 

With a frazzled puff I surmount the last stair tread on my way to the kitchen. Which reminds me that I really need to go to the gym more often...  
The sound of clashing porcelain flies through the floor as I search for the right door to go through, when suddenly something else captures my attention. Or rather: someone else.  
About twenty metres away from me a man stands on the gallery from which you are able to observe the whole lobby.  
I furl my eyebrows, doubtingly.  
Was he allowed to stand there? I've seen signs everywhere in the gallery tonight that prohibited 'the entry', and even the stairs that led me here were only open to the staff.  
He doesn't look like a member of the security either. Those men always wear Headsets and visible badges.

I stand on the door sill to the Kitchen, hesitating. I really wasn't in the mood to play security guard. Why should I clean up their mess?  
The next moment I'm on my way to the man. A tidy house, a tidy mind.  
Maybe he just got lost on the way to the toilet. That's what happens to me all the time.

From the lobby a muffling sound follows my steps on the museums-floor. The man on the stage must have started his speech. When I'm just five metres away from the dark-haired man I finally stop and clear my throat. "Excuse me, may I help you?"  
No response.  
Maybe he just couldn't hear me. Or wouldn't?  
Enforcedly I take another few steps in the direction of the man, who is still mesmerizedly watching the events in the lobby. His black hair brings out the paleness of his skin and ends shortly over his shoulders, on which he wears a green scarf.

I clear my throat again. Louder. "Excuse me, Sir. I don't think you are allowed to stand here."  
The man opposite me seems to notice my presence not until this very moment, turning away from the banister, facing me now. With an arched eyebrow he glances down my whole body before focusing on my eyes again.  
I'm weirdly feeling like being in a job interview. Being judged.

"You got lost?", I ask reluctantly. Now that I am standing face to face to that man, his whole appearance seems somehow... _out of place_ to me. His subtle features and the way he's looking... _down_ at me seem utterly disconcerting. I somehow hope he confirms my question.  
But instead his mouth shows a devious smile, his icy-blue eyes glittering with amusement. "Oh...no, my dear. Not at all."

As he gets one step closer, still smiling, I suddenly recognize the bronze walking stick in his right hand. On its top a blue stone glistens in the incoming light. I move backwards. Uneasily.  
"But I think, you may be helpful in some way." Without giving me a second to react, he points out the stick in my direction and places it at my throat.

I gasp.  
My eyes widen in panic, as I feel like being ripped of my body and sinking into a darkness that seems to overwhelm me with its infinity. My consciousness dives into a cloud of rage and disappointment, desperately reaching out for the only glimpse of light illuminating the emptiness.  
The last thing I am aware of, on conscious, are glittering, icy-blue eyes.


End file.
